Reflection
by highland laurel
Summary: A former Oxford classmate of Mingo's, now a British commander, decends into madness and attempts to right perceived wrongs from fifteen years before.
1. Chapter 1

Reflection

_For now we see through the glass, darkly, but then face to face._

_I Corinthians 13:11_

Chapter 1

"Murray! Edmund Kerr Murray, as I live and breathe!" The loud voice brayed through the quiet taproom of Sylvester Atherton. A half-dozen Salem citizens turned to look curiously at the thin man striding toward the quiet Indian sitting beside Daniel Boone.

Murmurs of curiosity began to swirl through the room. "You did make good on your threat to leave your old man high and dry! I wish I had been a mouse when you told him. It must have been a day to remember. He never could abide being defied."

The stranger plopped down in the chair across the table from Mingo. He grinned into the embarrassed face before him. Daniel glanced from one to the other, plainly curious. "Aren't you going to introduce us, Murray? Your friend looks like he's about to bust a gut." The rude man burst out with his own importance. "I'm Major Curtis Billows of His Majesty's Dragoons, lately of London, lastly of Williamsburg, now of Ninety-Six. Kerr and I go way back, don't we?"

At Mingo's continued silence, Curtis filled in as many details as he could squeeze into the sentences. "Yessiree, we are old friends, dear friends, brothers-in-arms so to speak. Survived the rigors of Oxford together. Rivals for the top honors, as I remember." Curtis' icy eyes glittered coldly. "Of course, I didn't have the connections Murray enjoyed. That put me at a decided disadvantage. I had to rely on my own gifts, cultivate my own mentors."

"Then Kerr refused to attend the Academy. Stubborn about it, as I recall. First of the Murrays to bypass its hallowed halls in three generations. Many times John raved about that, I am told. Very publicly on occasion, for the edification of the general audience." Curtis chuckled wickedly. "I, on the other hand, completed the courses and was commissioned into His Majesty's Forces. So here I am, on tour so to speak. And who do I meet on my first foray into the wilderness? My old friend Kerr Murray."

The British officer chortled for several seconds, obviously delighted at his own wit. Mingo sat stonily staring straight ahead. Daniel, feeling the tension between the other men, cleared his throat and tried to douse the flame of anger growing in his friend's eyes. "Pleased to meet you, Major Billows. What is your assignment here in Salem?"

Major Billows slipped his gaze from Mingo's face to the frontiersman beside him. "Excuse me, but I didn't catch your name." The words fell coldly to the tavern floor.

Daniel stared into the icy blue eyes for several seconds before replying. "I am Daniel Boone, of Boonesborough, Kentucky Territory."

"Ahhhh," Major Billows replied. "The great empire builder himself. It is the fulfillment of a dream, meeting you Mr. Boone. Though I have it on good authority that you are in open rebellion against the Crown. A bad decision, that. I shall have to recount this meeting for the edification of my superiors as well as my subordinates. Still, a pleasure Mr. Boone." The major extended his soft white hand. Daniel took it and pumped twice.

"Now I must take my leave. I trust you will not be a stranger, Murray? Come by and see me before you leave for whatever hut in the wilderness you call home. Evidently it is among some savage race or other. Did they make you a ruler, a chief or whatever you call it? I can see it all now, the educated Englishman setting up his own fiefdom in the wilds. A benevolent despot. A bit of Robinson Crusoe, eh? Priceless! Perhaps your father misjudged your predilections for power?"

With another chortle Curtis Billows stood, wheeled and strode toward the tavern door. His spotless uniform flared from his thin body. He pulled the heavy door open, turned, gave a mock salute to Mingo, then pulled the door shut. The sound of his wooden heels on the Salem sidewalk echoed for several seconds inside the quiet room.

Mingo closed his eyes and sighed heavily. After a deep breath he faced the man beside him. "I'm sorry about that confrontation Daniel. Curtis Billows is the last man I expected to see in the colonies. He and I had an uneasy acquaintance years ago. For some reason he decided to compete with me. Almost from the first day he made it clear that he considered me a rival. I had no interest in that role, but as you saw he is determined that I fulfill it anyway."

"He sounds like he's on a mission to punish you," Daniel commented.

Mingo frowned as he shook his head. "No, Daniel. He is simply fulfilling his assigned duty. He just happens to be here, and I just happen to be here. I doubt that I will ever see him again." With those words Mingo finished the final draught of his ale. Daniel did likewise. Then the two friends walked to their loaded wagon, climbed aboard and began their journey back to Boonesborough with Cincinnatus' final order of the year.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The moon was nearing the western horizon when Mingo suddenly awoke in a sodden sweat. Wisps of nightmare circled his wilderness bed. He lay staring at the stars, trying to steady his racing heart. His mind refused to release the dream, replaying it again and again. Curtis Billows stood at the end of his bed inside his Oxford room, a loaded pistol leveled at his heart. Lips lifted in a sneer, the thin classmate pulled the trigger. Mingo could feel the ball penetrate, feel the pain of it smashing his rib as it plowed into his pounding heart. Then there was only blackness, deep, smothering blackness.

Slowly Mingo sat, careful not to awaken Daniel sleeping soundly on the other side of the cold campfire. A sleepy bird trilled nearby. Soft lavender color began to wash the early autumn sky. Crossing his ankles, he sat pondering the sudden unexpected meeting of the day before and the surprising degree of dislike he still felt for Curtis.

He had been at the college one semester before meeting Curtis in a class of medieval history. Mingo closed his eyes as the memory formed. He had been seated in the back row, trying to remain unnoticed. Not so Curtis. The skinny scholar strode into the room, plunked his textbook on the front center desk, then sat primly staring at the instructor. Percival Barclay was known to every student on the campus as an eccentric, gruff old man who had the odd habit of snatching students by the hair if they made an error.

The class quickly filled with boys, some boisterous, some scholarly, some indifferent, some anxious. Mingo, carrying the name of Kerr Murray, fit into the last category. He also fit into the second category. It was this fit that brought him to the attention of Curtis Billows.

"Good afternoon, class," Master Barclay bellowed. Obediently the fifty-seven boys replied. The teacher walked slowly around the room, matching boys to the names in his roster. Mingo smiled slightly in memory as he saw himself as he had been, trying hard to fade into the back wall of the stuffy schoolroom. But Master Barclay had been prepped by his associate Master Atwood. When he matched Kerr to the name in his roster he turned to the group of boys with a fateful announcement. "Class, attention. We have an unusual young man among us. Master Murray, would you please stand?"

Slowly, reluctantly, Mingo did as commanded. He could feel the pairs of eyes riveted on his face. A sheen of sweat coated his skin. Very uncomfortable, he tried to understand why he had been singled out. He fervently hoped it was not because of his Cherokee blood, or his father's splendid record at the school. Seconds later he had his answer.

"Master Murray earned the highest marks in all of Master Atwood's ancient history classes last term. It will be up to each of you to best that achievement." The old man's filmy eyes fastened on Kerr's own as he continued. "And it will be your task to keep them from doing it. Understand me, young man?" Kerr nodded slightly. "You may sit down," Master Barclay said.

As he sat, Kerr happened to catch the look of hatred beaming from Curtis Billows' face. After class, as he hurried to his room, he was overtaken by his fuming classmate.

Snatching Kerr's arm, Curtis pushed in front and poked his bony finger into Kerr's chest. "Listen," he panted in fury. "I'm going to smash you down, Murray. You'll never be first in any class so long as I am in that class. That's a promise."

Without another word he spun, leaving Kerr Murray standing speechless in the middle of the campus. Softly he whispered after his fleeing classmate. "We'll see about that."

Class after class, term after term, the battle raged. In only one class did Curtis Billows manage to best Kerr Murray: mathematics. It was the same subject that John Murray had excelled in a generation before. In the last week of the last term, Curtis followed Kerr from the dining hall into the soft English spring. "Murray! Wait," Curtis called. Kerr stopped, his head lifted, his body ready to check the blows. The pale, gangly youth stood facing his Indian opponent, clenching and unclenching his hands. "I made good on my promise. I've bested you in mathematics every term. What have you got to say about that?"

"Congratulations," Kerr said softly.

The reply was not what Curtis was seeking. An angry flush colored his thin cheeks. "That's all you've got to say? What's the matter with you? Don't you have any pride at all?"

Kerr's brown eyes stared at the sputtering youth before him. "My pride is not based on losing a contest I did not enter."

Brushing past his seething classmate, Kerr strode into the deepening twilight leaving Curtis holding his breath in shocked disbelief. Just as he entered the shadow of his rooming hall, he heard the echo bounce from the stone walls. "Murray!" Curtis screamed. "Murray, come back here and face me. I demand it! Murrrrrr-eeeee!"

Curtis Billows was not present at the graduation ceremonies. Rumors spread that he had tried to kill himself with his razor, but most of the young men didn't believe it. Curtis was known as a coward, a youth of many words but few deeds. Mingo had not thought about him in more than fourteen years. Now, suddenly, he had reappeared like a bad penny. He shook his head to clear the memories as Daniel sat up calling his name. "Mingo, how long have you been awake?" Dan glanced around the cold camp, the sunlight slanting through the trees. "We should have been on the trail an hour ago. Is something wrong?"

To cover his embarrassment, Mingo rocked forward to stir the campfire. He clattered the coffeepot, trying to distract Daniel from his unusual tardiness. Daniel said nothing. He sat watching his friend uncharacteristically rattle around the camp. Deciding not to press the issue, he helped fix a quick breakfast. Together the men harnessed the mules, broke the camp and were soon on the trail.

The day passed normally, as did the next two. Daniel and Mingo talked about people they knew, memories they shared. They argued about ideas and ideals. They laughed about episodes from their disparate lives. The pleasant autumn days drifted past in golden hours.

On the fourth day out of Salem they came upon the site of a recent battle. Cautiously, carefully, they walked around the bullet-scared field. There was evidence of violent, swift death. Their eyes filled with knowledge, they drove on another mile or two before making camp. The breeze from the west kept the odor of the battlefield at bay.

As the darkness settled over the forest they heard the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats. Exchanging a wary glance, they each held their rifle steady as they moved to the edge of the firelight. A man in a red coat bearing the insignia of a corporal rode right up to the fire. He stared at the two men, then whipped a message from the inside of his coat. Puzzled, Daniel walked to the horse and took the message. The corporal sat, waiting.

"Mingo," Daniel said, his voice strained. "Look at this."

Mingo peered at the letter in his friend's hand. "This can't be. I refuse to accept this as being genuine."

"You'd better accept it, mister," the corporal interjected. "Major Billows is quite serious. I'm to bring you back to Salem with me. The major sent a half-dozen of us to make certain you come." The corporal beckoned behind his back. Into the firelight rode five mounted soldiers.

Mingo snatched the paper from Daniel's hand. He walked to stand at the corporal's stirrup. "Why, Corporal? What is the charge?"

The corporal pushed against Mingo's chest with his booted foot. "Get back over there, Indian. I don't have to answer any question you ask me. Get used to the idea that you're coming back with me."

"No!" Daniel said forcefully. "We're going on to Boonesborough with the supplies just as we planned. Both of us."

There was the sound of five muskets being cocked. Mingo turned to look at the frontiersman behind him. "Daniel, we have no choice."

Daniel's anxiety was plain on his face. Seconds passed. Suddenly Mingo turned back to face the corporal. "If I go with you, will you allow Daniel to take the supplies back to Boonesborough? I willingly offer myself as your hostage. Agreed?"

"Mingo, no!" Daniel shouted.

The corporal sat on his big horse, thinking. Tense moments passed. Finally the corporal nodded his agreement. "I'll add an amendment to the agreement. The major wants to have dinner with you, Mr. Boone. I'll let you deliver your supplies, but you have to be back before the first snow. If you aren't, we execute this Indian."

"Before the first snow? That's impossible! No one knows when the first snow will come!" Daniel bellowed.

"Take it or leave it, Boone. That's the agreement." The young corporal's face reflected his arrogant attitude. Before Daniel could argue, Mingo strode to the corporal's horse and extended his rifle. With that gesture the bargain was sealed.

Mingo returned to Daniel's side, murmuring softly. "I'll be alright. Hurry as fast as you can." His lips lifted in a small teasing smile, Mingo added, "I'll be praying for a late winter." Then he walked back to the six British soldiers. "I am your prisoner, corporal," he said softly.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The return to Salem was quick. Mile after mile Mingo trotted beside the corporal's horse. On the afternoon of the third day he was again in the presence of Curtis Billows, this time minus his rifle, whip and knife. The British major looked his prisoner over carefully, his eyes coming to rest on Mingo's thick black hair. He chuckled mirthlessly. Mingo stood before his desk, trail worn and dirty but proudly erect. Major Billows walked to sit behind his desk. His light blue eyes focused on Mingo's sweat-stained face. "My, but you've come down in the world Master Murray. What would old Atwood think of you now? Or Creston? Or even March? It is rare for a man to fulfill his destiny, to achieve his goals. But you have certainly achieved yours! Your goal was to abandon everything that makes life comfortably worth living to live like a primitive. How you have succeeded!"

Mingo dipped his upper body in acknowledgement of the barb. Major Billows leaned back in his chair, his brows drawn into a frown. "Mocking me, are you? What should I call you, by the way? Edmund just does not suit your present condition. Kerr either. So I'll call you…….what?" Once again a chortle escaped the major's thin lips.

"My name is Caramingo." Mingo's deep voice was filled with power and pride.

Major Billows heard it and scowled. "A heathen name! You have run far, Kerr, but not far enough. You see, I found you. I wasn't looking for you, but I found you anyway. Not a small amount of irony, wouldn't you say?" Curtis smirked up into Mingo's weary face.

"The message was of course a fake." Mingo said. "British high command doesn't even know I am here. They know nothing of Daniel either."

"Of course! Ingenuous, wouldn't you agree?" Billows challenged.

"Perhaps. It depends on why you want me here," Mingo replied.

Curtis' colorless skin blushed a pale pink. "I want you here, Murray, so I can show you once and for all that my pure English blood is superior to your mongrel mixture. John Murray, father to a bastard half-breed, a Royal Governor? What a travesty!"

Mingo's dark eyes narrowed as he stood contemplating the answer. His puzzlement was evident as he responded. "Curtis, I have nothing to do with my father's advancements or his failures. I maintain no contact with him and never have. Whatever you plan to do to me will not affect my father one iota."

"That may be so. But if I can show that your choice to live as a savage reflects badly upon Lord Dunsmore as a father, and as a representative of the Crown, perhaps my family will finally be granted the position we deserve."

"Curtis, that is a specious argument and you know it!"

"Oh? Did you read William Cooper's comments recently published? Of course you didn't. I forgot, you've buried yourself in the wilderness. Let me enlighten you, my dear fellow. He said, and I quote, ahem," Curtis cleared his throat and struck an exaggerated pose. "'Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere, and we too wise to trust them.'"

Mingo frowned as he tried to connect the wispy tendrils of spider silk. The filaments refused to bind together in any recognizable way. Still the British officer continued.

"So, my friend Caramingo, formerly classmate Kerr, I will document your lack of knowledge regarding William Cooper as further proof that Lord Dunsmore is unfit for anything above census taker. That, by the way, is a position for which he _is_ highly qualified, having won honors in mathematics while he attended Oxford. Unlike his half-breed son!"

Curtis guffawed rudely, spraying a fine mist of spittle onto his polished desk. "Your attendance at Oxford was an insult to every English man there. Everyone agreed with me. We were forced to endure your presence. Do you have any idea how much we all loathed you? No, of course you don't. You were protected by your father's wealth and power. But not now! Now you are my helpless prisoner, to do with as I wish."

Mingo stared at the man before him. Curtis flashed from idea to idea like a frantic moth. Memories struggled to push forward through Mingo's mind. With effort he pushed them back. He needed time to review them, time to understand the man across the desk, time to formulate a plan to free himself from the cold clutches. He shifted from foot to foot, drawing the attention of the slobbering major. Curtis swallowed, dabbed his chin with his stock, and waved his hand in dismissal.

Uncertain, Mingo walked through the double doors. An attentive soldier jerked his head sideways. Following the soldier, Mingo realized that he was to be housed close to the major's quarters. The closeness was an added danger. He could easily be attacked in his sleep without the inconvenience of witnesses. Only a dozen steps later the soldier opened a door and pointed inside. Entering, Mingo found a comfortable bed, a chest of drawers, a china wash set, and a padded chair. He gratefully washed the grime from his face, arms, and body. He ran his fingers through his tangled black hair, then used the comb on the dresser to smooth the heavy locks. When he finished he slowly sank into the feather mattress. He lay back, folded his long arms behind his head, stared at the closed door and allowed the memories to form.

Curtis Billows was already a student at Oxford when he arrived midway through the first term. Edmund Murray, known by his middle name Kerr, was a challenge to the established paradigm. It was understood, indeed expected, that the other boys would hate him, or at the very least shun him. Joey Masterson and Calvin Cushing had reacted totally against that expectation. For the first time in years Kerr was appreciated for the special person that he was.

But most of the boys reacted as expected, shunning him, laughing at him, attributing all manner of grossness to him. Occasionally he overheard their comments. Sometimes he was meant to overhear them. Cruel, harmful, hateful were the barbed words. Cruelest of all were the words of Curtis Billows. As Mingo lay allowing the memories to form, he realized for the first time how deeply the major hated him. When he was living through the torment, the depth of the hatred did not register. Now it did.

There had been assignments ruined with spilled ink. There had been pages ripped from textbooks. Once Kerr had found his extra shirts shredded with a razor. He remembered returning to his room one day to find a bloody rat under his pillow. Besides the rat, he had found dirt smeared on his sheets, water dumped in his bed, and his blankets fouled with rotted vegetables. Calvin, as his roommate, had also had his bed ruined. If any innocent boys knew about the incidents, they never informed. To Kerr it seemed that the general population agreed with the perpetrator.

Several times he had been tripped as he entered or exited a classroom. In the great press of boys it was nearly impossible to tell who the perpetrator had been. But Curtis Billows was present each and every time. Mingo's eyes widened as he remembered falling down the two flights of stairs in his dormitory. It had been dark. He was returning from the library just before the lights-out bell. The lamps in the hall were blown out. It did not register at the time, but now his memory presented the scene in its entirety. He remembered arriving at the head of the second flight, grasping the post, placing his right foot on the upper floor. Then came the push, hard against his chest. He flew backward several feet, landed midway down the flight, rolled to the landing and pulled himself upright. Again there was a hard push. Again the fall, again the painful landing and the bruising roll.

Doors banged open as boys dashed into the dark hall. Master Simmons opened his own door across from the bottom of the stairs to find Kerr Murray barely conscious at his feet.

It had taken nearly a week of bed rest before he was able to return to classes. Mingo could see the face of Curtis Billows in the crowd of boys. He had not noticed then, lying bruised and bloodied at the foot of the stairs. Now he drew the face from deep in his memory. Curtis had been laughing maniacally.

Another memory formed. Kerr was a naturally gifted athlete in all areas. His friend Calvin was not. Whenever they had a spare moment Kerr tried to help Calvin develop whatever physical skill was wanting at the time. During the second part of their third year, it was horsemanship. As they rode the course, Kerr's horse suddenly squealed. He reared unexpectedly. Kerr managed to stay seated, but the incident was mysterious. When they returned to the stable Kerr found a rock-sized welt on his horse's chest. Two days later, the horse bucked him off as soon as he settled into the saddle. Picking himself up from the ground, Kerr approached the nervous animal. He was surprised to see a trickle of blood running down the horse's barrel. When he loosened the saddle he found a piece of jagged glass pressed into the horse's back. It must have been pushed into the underside of the saddle.

Calvin stood beside him as he pulled the glass from the animal's bleeding back. "Who would do such a thing?" Calvin asked in horror. Kerr turned to look at his friend and caught a fleeting glimpse of a thin man running away from them. It was Curtis Billows.

The evening darkness began to settle inside the comfortable room before Mingo explored the final memory. Graduation day, and the rumor of Curtis' attempted suicide. It was said that he had used a razor to slit his throat. Focusing all his energy on the image in his mind, he brought forth the face of Major Billows. The white stock carefully concealed his throat. Concentrating, Mingo suddenly remembered Curtis in the Salem tavern days before. He had self-consciously played with the cloth at his throat as he talked. Even in the dim interior light Mingo had seen the scar.

Bolting upright, he sat on the feather bed as the realization pierced his mind. Curtis Billows' throat had been cut. Was it an attempted suicide or an attempted murder? Could it have happened at the Military Academy? Was it a battle scar? Mingo knew that the key to his survival lay with the answer to the questions. He lay back down and tried to think.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

At dusk the next day the guard came to escort him to dinner. His previous meals had been served to him. Puzzled, Mingo followed the soldier into a simple room. The small intimate table was covered with a white cloth. Silverware gleamed in the candlelight. Pointing to one of the chairs, the silent guard walked to the door and exited the room.

Seconds later Major Billows entered from a side door. Freshly washed and scented, the English officer sat down with a flourish of his scarlet coat. Mingo sat opposite him, only three feet away across the little round table. Curtis' light eyes sparkled in the dim light. An orderly arrived with the first course, a creamy leek soup. Cautiously Mingo watched the major dip his spoon and sip the soup before he did the same.

Before the second course arrived the major finished his first glass of wine. The orderly quickly refilled the glass. Mingo sipped his own, his eyes filled with caution. He had seen the exact same look on his father's face night after night as now covered Curtis Billows'. An explosion was imminent unless the wine could drown it first. The second course, a roasted fowl with whipped potatoes, was expertly cooked. Mingo savored the flavors and sipped his wine. Curtis swallowed his food ravenously, washing it down with glass after glass of the red wine.

The pudding dessert arrived soon after the second course was finished. Mingo slowly ate the thick pudding, alertly watching the man across the table ignoring the dessert as he continued to drain the wine decanter. A drunken smirk appeared on the British officer's face. Mingo tensed in anticipation. "Master Murray, shir," Curtis slurred drunkenly. "The meal has been to your satisfashuon?"

"It was delicious. Thank you, major," Mingo responded amenably.

A dark scowl replaced the smirk on the officer's face. "It was more than de-li-shush. It was better than any you have ever had! Admit it."

Seeing nothing to be gained by arguing, Mingo silently nodded his head. "Alright, Curtis. It was the best I have ever had."

"Nothing you Murrays have is better than that. Nothing!" Major Billows slapped the table with his left hand. With his right he lifted the wine glass and swallowed the liquid with a gulp. Two rivulets of red wine ran like blood past the corners of his mouth. Impatiently he waved away the hovering orderly. "You think you are better than everyone else, don't you Kerr-i-min-go? What a name! A telling choice, I think…….Kerr Murray."

"I didn't name myself, Curtis. My uncle named me when I was born, as is the Cherokee custom," Mingo corrected softly.

"Born! You weren't born, Murray, you were spawned! Yes, spawned. Like a frog, or an insect. A bug! How many other bastards do you think your esh-teemed father spawned in the colonies? Or in the kingdom, for that matter? Maybe you're even related to members of the royal fam-bi-ly!" At the expression of his own wit, Curtis began to chuckle. He downed another glass of wine and poured its replacement. The decanter clinked against the glass as the dark liquid gurgled. Then he continued his discourse.

"Maybe you're a snake. Or a bat. That's what you are! Remember Master Swinehurst leck-shuring about the bats found by the Spanish? You're a blood sucker, Kerr, trying to feed off of my life. You tried years ago, 'member? On the night before grad-a-tion. You bled me so I couldn't attend the sheremony. You hurt me with your knife. You hurt me," Curtis whimpered, his lower lip beginning to quiver.

Mingo's alarm grew as he listened and watched the drunken man disintegrate before him. Major Billows reached for the last of the wine, tipped the decanter and swallowed directly from the crystal container. Streams of wine dripped from his chin onto the white tablecloth. Drunkenly the officer began to giggle, then chortle, then laugh uproariously. He fell from his chair to roll on the patterned carpet, holding his scared throat as he fought for breath. "Blood sucker," he gasped.

Mingo stood, trying to decide what to do. Curtis crawled across the floor, reached for Mingo's trousers and grasped the blue cloth tightly in his hands. Tears began to course down the man's tormented face. "I tried to kill you twice. Is that why you cut me? I didn't mean to……I didn't mean to but he made me. He made me!" Howls began to echo from the room's painted walls. The side door burst open and a sergeant rushed to the major's side. Seconds later the orderly also dashed into the room. Between them they raised the insensate major. Curtis Billows began to gag helplessly. The trio disappeared through the door, leaving Mingo standing aghast at what he had witnessed.

Gradually the major's words sank into his mind. Years ago the man had tried to kill him, twice. Twice? The fall down the flights of stairs had obviously been one. But when was the second attempt? Here inside the same building, would there be another attempt?

As he pondered the question the sergeant returned, saluted, and spoke. "Sir, the major wishes me to ask your forgiveness, but he is indisposed and cannot continue the audience. Please, accompany me to your room and retire for the night."

The man's face did not betray any emotion. But his hazel eyes held an expression of weary acceptance. Mingo followed him down the hall. As he opened the door, he turned to the sergeant. "Sergeant, what I witnessed is not unusual, is it?" The sergeant's eyes flicked to Mingo's face, then stared straight ahead. He refused to answer the question. But his silence was all the verification Mingo needed. Another question passed his lips. "Will he attempt to take my life?"

The question caused the sergeant to flinch uncontrollably. Mingo could see the conflict warring in the man's mind. In the quiet of the candlelit hall both men could hear the maniacal howls emanating from beyond the wall. "Don't bother to answer, sergeant.

I understand your position. I will be wary."

Nodding silently, the sergeant left Mingo before his open door. Walking into the room, he made certain the window was latched, pulling the drapes to hide the glass. After turning the key in the lock he propped the heavy padded chair against the door.

Though he slept lightly, he did sleep the entire night and woke refreshed with the dawn. Splashing cool water onto his face, he toweled dry. He pulled his fingers through his hair to remove the tangles. Thinking about his years at the college, he made his bed, pulled the chair from the door and unlocked it. There was the sound of footsteps, then a knock on his door. An orderly stepped into the room, saluted and announced, "The major would like you to be his guest at breakfast. Please follow me."

Reluctantly Mingo did as he was bidden. As he entered the dining room he noticed that the sky was a leaden grey. Small droplets of rain ticked against the panes. Wondering if Daniel had yet reached Boonesborough, Mingo sat in the same chair he had occupied last evening. He watched the light rain fall until the side door opened and Curtis Billows entered the room, walking carefully. He was very pale. "Good day, Kerr. I trust you slept well?" The mannerly voice was a direct contrast to what it had been only hours before.

"Thank you, major. I did sleep well," Mingo replied cautiously.

Seating himself, the major beckoned the orderly to pour the tea. Once it was poured the breakfast arrived. The two men ate in complete silence. Now and then Mingo glanced at his host. There seemed to be nothing at all wrong with the man sitting opposite him in the damask-covered chair.

They exchanged pleasantries as they sipped their tea, exactly as two gentleman of the manor might do. As the moments passed Mingo became more and more puzzled. The ormolu clock chimed nine. Folding his napkin, Major Billows excused himself and pushed back his chair. Almost as an afterthought he raised his light eyes to Mingo's face and proclaimed, "I shall expect you to meet me at eleven, in the gymnasium. We will settle the matter there. Cummings will be my second. I assume Cushing will be yours. Bring your favorite sword. I have already sharpened mine."

With a slight bow, the major left Mingo sitting open-mouthed at the breakfast table.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A quarter of an hour later Mingo drilled the sergeant. "I can't meet him in the gymnasium with my sword, sergeant. There** is** no gymnasium. Major Billows is obviously deranged. You all must know that."

Sergeant Adams closed his eyes, sighing deeply, but making no reply.

"Did he write the message that brought me here himself?"

"I don't know that, sir. Perhaps you should speak to Captain Wainwright or Lieutenant Swope."

"Then please send one of them to me. They know about episodes like I witnessed last night, don't they? That can't have been the first time."

"No sir, it wasn't. Major Billows has those kinds of spells several times a week. It's like he's two different men. Sometimes he's a good officer. Other times he makes no sense at all. Like last month."

Into Mingo's mind sprang the battleground he and Daniel had found on their way back to Boonesborough. "Sergeant, was Major Billows in charge of the disaster in the mountains?"

The sergeant's startled look could not be hidden. Realizing Mingo had seen his expression, the sergeant hung his head and explained. "We received notice at Ninety-Six that a group of Cherokee were harassing loyalist settlers west of the mountains. Without investigating in any way, Major Billows ordered Lieutenant Cummings and thirty men to punish the Indians. Exactly which Indians were not clear. I was not there, but the one man who managed to stagger back here told us. The troops attacked the first group of Indians they saw. The soldier wasn't sure which tribe they were. Anyway, they were a small hunting party and our soldiers killed them all."

Mingo tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. He knew the story all too well. He had already reached the conclusion before the sergeant finished the tale. "On the way back here the troop was attacked without any warning. They were cut down with arrows, hatchets, knives, war clubs. The only way Truman survived was because he was shielded by the lieutenant's body. He broke and ran past a warrior just as one of his companions shot. That's how he got away."

"Major Billows refused to believe Truman's story. He had the poor man publicly whipped as a deserter. He died from the whipping. The major refused to send a burial detail. Captain Wainwright had to do it. Days later Major Billows acted like he didn't remember a thing about it, from sending the soldiers out in the first place to having Truman whipped to death."

"Sergeant, did Major Billows ever tell you that someone else gave the orders?"

Sergeant Adams stared at the tall Cherokee many seconds before nodding. In a low voice he replied, "Yes sir, that's just what he did. Said he'd been told to do it by his commander."

"Does he have a commander? I mean someone here, someone who outranks him?" Mutely the sergeant shook his head.

"Send an officer to me, sergeant. Major Billows has got to be stopped before he causes more deaths." Mingo opened the door and the sergeant walked rapidly through to accomplish his errand.

Mingo sat in the padded chair, trying to remember Curtis' second attempt on his life. He allowed his mind to wander, and suddenly the memory was there. It was the term following his fall down the stairs. He had been walking in the shadows of a large building where his next class was to meet. Lost in thought, he was not paying close attention to unusual sounds. Suddenly he felt a sudden rush of air as a heavy object whizzed past his right shoulder. He heard it thud into the soft ground at his side. When he looked he saw a large stone, about the size of a man's head, partially buried in the earth. Glancing up, he saw the open window.

That had to have been Curtis' second attempt. A shudder ran through his body at the thought. When it happened, he had been shaken but not unduly alarmed. It was not until now that he realized the window belonged to his classroom, and Curtis was a member of that class. At the time he had thought one of the building's stones had simply come loose from its mortar and fallen. A knock on the door broke through his memories. "Come in," he called.

Into the room stepped Captain Wainwright. The two men talked until nearly eleven. The captain explained the small contingent's presence in Salem as a whim of Major Billows. "He just decided that he wanted to make a 'tour of conquest', as he called it. Colonel Morris at Ninety-Six is old, and doesn't ever deny a junior officer the opportunity to parade through the colony. We've been here a little less than two months."

"Doing what, exactly?" Mingo asked.

"Major Billows calls it 'stomping out the rebellion'. We make ourselves visible, send out parties to attack peaceful Indians, and capture innocent men." Captain Wainwright sighed in resignation. Just then the major's private orderly knocked on Mingo's door to announce the time of the contest of honor was at hand. "I'll come with you," the captain decided. Mingo nodded his acceptance. The two men followed the orderly to the back door of the residence. Once in the yard they noticed immediately that the temperature had fallen several degrees. The light rain had become an icy mist.

Major Billows stood in his shirt sleeves with his head uncovered, an unsheathed sword in his right hand. His breath fogged as he welcomed the two men. "Kerr, Calvin, so good of you to come," Curtis said politely. Mingo and Captain Wainwright glanced at each other from the corner of their eyes. "Have you forgotten your sword, Kerr? How careless! Cummings, give Master Murray your sword."

The orderly frowned at his commander. "Sir, I do not have my sword. As your orderly, it is not required."

"Then get it, Cummings! Don't be a dunderhead. Think, man, think!" the major shouted. The orderly saluted, then whirled and disappeared into the house. Major Billows began to hum tunelessly as he wandered over the small yard. He inspected the leafless hedge like a budding botanist. Mingo and the captain exchanged a look of disbelief.

Captain Wainwright walked cautiously to his commander's side. He stiffened and saluted smartly. "Sir! Permission to speak," the captain asked. The major stared at his subordinate as though he had never seen the man before. Curtly he nodded his permission.

"The prisoner is an Indian and not trained with a sword, sir. It is against regulations to force him to fight you." Boldly the captain held his commanders' light blue eyes. There was no response to his pronouncement. The orderly returned with a sword and handed it to Mingo at his commander's demand. Pushing Captain Wainwright aside, Major Billows struck a combat pose and gestured for Mingo to attack.

"Now, Murray. Here, before the entire class, show your mettle. Come at me. Come at me!" he demanded. Mingo stood still, his sword pointed at the ground. Evidently his passive stance enflamed the major and he began to scream in frustration. "Swing at me, Murray! So much time has passed, too much time has passed. My father did not live to see this moment. But I will forge a place in his name."

Curtis swung his sword in a powerful arc. It whistled through the air as Mingo leaped backward away from the blade. His back against the wall, he eyed the long blade as the major readied another swing. From the side Captain Wainwright leaped between them, his own sword in his right hand. He met his commander's downswing. Bellowing in rage, the major slashed at his own officer.

"Damn you Cushing! Get out of the way. He's mine, just as I vowed he would be. Ha, Murray. Afraid to face me as always, eh? Coward! Mongrel! Abomination!" Shrieking obscenities, frothing at the mouth, Major Billows ran toward Mingo with his sword raised high above his head. Darting sideways at the final moment, Mingo brought the heavy haft down upon the back of his classmate's head. The British officer fell and lay still on the cold ground. Mingled with the icy mist white snowflakes began to fall.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Mingo met Daniel as he rushed east through the Gap. The ground was covered in four inches of fresh snow. The two horses nuzzled each other in friendly greeting. Daniel gripped Mingo's arm in relief. "I came as quick as I could," he explained.

"I know. It is good to see you, I admit," Mingo replied.

The grey sky above them threatened more snow. Daniel glanced up, then back to Mingo's face. "What do you think? Another few hours maybe?"

Mingo nodded his agreement. "I'd say it will start before evening. But we can get another few miles west before we have to stop."

Urging the horses, they did make six more miles before the first flakes began to fall. Daniel remembered a thick stand of brush not much farther west and the two men rode toward it. They found it just before it was fully dark. While Daniel hobbled the horses Mingo tied the branches of the shrubs to heavy rocks. Then both men scrambled to gather firewood before it was too dark to see.

Hunched beneath the brush shelter the two experienced frontiersmen built their fire. Daniel scooped a pot full of snow and dropped in several pieces of dried meat to soften.

Mingo did the same with the coffeepot. Pulling their coats close around them, fastening them tightly, they leaned back and waited.

"Are you going to tell me, or do I have to ask?" Daniel murmured to the silent man at his left elbow.

Mingo smiled mischievously. "I was waiting for an invitation. The story is nearly unbelievable. I wanted to wait until it was time to tell tall tales."

Daniel chuckled. "Why don't you start now so we can get to the end before it gets too late?"

With another chuckle, Mingo complied. Daniel poured the coffee and dished up the meat as Mingo talked. A half-hour later, the tale was complete. "So what became of the major?" Daniel asked when Mingo stopped speaking.

"He was being kept locked in his room under constant guard. Captain Wainwright sent a message to the high command in Yorktown."

"Why did he let you go? You're a known patriot." Daniel's puzzlement was obvious.

"According to the captain, no one knew I was there except the small force commanded by Curtis. After what the major had put me through, the captain thought I deserved to be released." Mingo sighed. "I couldn't disagree with him."

"Did you see the major before you left?" Daniel asked curiously.

Mingo's eyes flickered, then blinked. "I did. He didn't recognize me at all. He thought the command was under attack and I was there to take his scalp. He collapsed onto the floor, screaming. It was most disconcerting. But the most puzzling thing was that he kept calling me Hallam."

"Who's Hallam? Do you know?" Daniel queried as he sipped his coffee.

"I do. Master Hallam was the last history instructor we had before we graduated. He and I had several, ah, disagreements concerning the colonization of the Americas. Finally, in frustration I think, he challenged me to prove my points. I boldly proclaimed that I would if he proved his first. Of course, it is impossible to 'prove' historical viewpoints."

Mingo's eyes grew distant as the memories took hold. "On the last day of the class, two days before graduation, Curtis stood up and pulled several pieces of paper from his jacket. They were covered with mathematical calculations. He faced the class, held them up and proceeded to prove Hallam's points mathematically."

"What?" Daniel burst out. "That's not possible!"

Mingo looked into his surprised face. "I know. We all knew. Master Hallam tried to make Curtis sit down. He took his arm and pulled gently. Curtis collapsed right there. He sat on the floor screaming my name. Hallam dismissed the class. The last thing I saw before I left the classroom was Curtis crawling on the floor, trying to make Hallam look at his calculations. It was very sad. The next day he pulled his razor across his throat."

"He did what?" Daniel choked on his meat. Mingo waited until he stopped coughing before continuing.

"There was a rumor the day of graduation, but I paid no heed. However, apparently it was true. It's quite an unexpected burden, Daniel, to know that someone considered himself so worthless compared to me that he would seek death."

"It's not your fault, is it Mingo? I mean, I can't see you purposely flaunting your own abilities at the expense of someone else."

"I didn't. But Curtis thought that I did. Just as he thought 'General Wooley' ordered him to send men to their deaths in the wilderness. He's mad, Daniel. I think he's been mad for a very long time, perhaps his entire life. But somehow that doesn't take the feeling of culpability out of my heart."

"No, Mingo. If it hadn't been you, it would have been someone else. He could have invented someone, like he did General Wooley. In a way that is what he did anyway. He made you responsible for all his failures, all his problems, even though you were completely blameless."

Daniel's words were the last spoken. Mingo sat staring into the fire, his mind busy with the position Daniel had presented. The snow began to fall more heavily. Its pure white blanket covered the little brush shelter. Beneath it, the two firm friends thought about responsibility, innocence, and the image Curtis Billows held frozen inside the dark glass of his mind.


End file.
